The Shield Guardian
by Myrdin
Summary: What will happen when four adventurers find that they are the only thing standing between an ancient mage, his shield guardian and Faerun's destruction? This is my first fanfic so plz R&R. Chapter 3 is up!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the FR universe or any characters in said universe. Except for my own created characters and the plot for this story. Those are mine.

**Prologue**

A dark robed figure stood silent in the night. The old man leaned wearily on his staff; the staff itself wielding many arcane runes through out its five foot length. The representation of an owl was mounted at the tip. He was surrounded by orcs, outnumbered and overwhelmed. This small clan of orcs, not known for hesitation, watched the man eerily.

"Master?" One orc that knew the basic tongue came forth. "You hold key to Guardian?" Though his vocabulary was limited, it was easy enough to understand what the orc was trying to get across.

The man simply nodded. The orc clan grew excited, the prophesy was coming true, their centuries of devotion finally coming to fruition.

"Lead me to it." The man said softly. He was slowly guided through the ranks of orcs and through the camp they called home to an old and decrepit temple. Markings covered the old temple; no doubt a history of the small clan and their everlasting devotion to their 'God.'

"In there." The orc spoke anxiously as he pointed into the temple. The robed man slowly began towards the entrance when he was cut off by the orc's words. "Master, what is name?"

The man looked back to the orc, his pale blue eyes shining brightly in the night. "My name is Edaran." The man then continued into the temple; an insignia of an owl could be seen on the archway of the entrance.

With a torch in hand the old man slowly navigated the winding corridors of the temple. At each step he could see writings on the wall, telling how the orc clan's god came to be. The old man simply smiled at them, truly understanding the origin of his long lost comrade.

He came to a large iron clad door, the orc words for "Only the master may enter" scratched on its surface. The old man placed his hand on the door and muttered an incantation. He watched as the door screeched and swung open.

The old man grinned as his gaze came upon his companion. A pillar of light shone down onto the shield guardian, webs and dust covering the metallic form. Edaran slowly walked towards the towering giant; it's height reaching thirteen feet. A small tablet was at its feet, the word Kol'Toren inscribed on it.

"Kol'Toren, hmm, a fitting name." Edaran looked back up to the shield guardian, its right hand wielding an enormous axe. He smiled once again, his mind calculating the next steps needed in his plan. He had been reunited with his friend and now Faerun's destruction was fast approaching.


	2. Blindsided

**Chapter One: Blindsided**

Dillon watched anxiously as the world, his world, awoke around him. The city of Silverymoon, thought of as the pinnacle of Good, was best seen at dawn. The sun slowly beginning its ascent into the sky; it's brilliant light touching the highest spires of the city, reflecting an almost mirror-like glow upon its surroundings. Oh how Dillon loved this city. Some would say it bordered on obsessive, though the people that actually knew Dillon would disagree.

Dillon, being one of the Knights of Silverymoon, knew that his love for the city came from his duty to protect it. He knew what lay beyond its gates: the brutal, cut-throat reality of the realms. The dangers that everyday risk to destroy the city's innocence. And that is what compels him to fight; to lay his life on the line to keep that innocence safe. He had heard of such heroes before: their legends great and most likely altered and fabricated to hold, and captivate, the young minds intently listening.

Dillon often wondered if he would ever be put into song or tale, if he would ever be remembered for his bravery, courage, and devotion. "Dillon the Vigilant," he said to himself, the word and title working perfectly next to his job as watcher and protector. Though this did bring a disturbing case to mind; his insomnia was growing worse. It had been the fifth day in a row that he could not sleep. Every time he had, it seemed his mind would fill with horrific images of wars long past and unnerving sights of genocide.

He had often been told by wise men and sages that his mind was trying to tell him something. That through dreams, the mind speaks. But what could his mind possibly be trying to tell him? He wondered. The thought suddenly diminished as a large explosion could be heard from the main gates. Dillon froze in place, who would attack at this hour? He then tried to comprehend who or what could possibly make such a sound. The answer came and went just as fast as the questions, accompanied by a cry from a fellow Knight.

"ORCS!"

The midday sun slowly rose to its highest position in the sky, its warm rays shining down on the trees and leaves of Cedarleaf, making their orange and brown base more exuberant then ever. A large breeze rustled through the gigantic forms, the breeze itself carrying the soft song of birds chirping happily through the day. Elrandir, lying sheepishly in his bed, slowly opened his eyes to the beauty of the Wood Elves. His hazel eyes gazed at the trees next to his room, wondering how such a beautiful sight could be made, and thanked the gods for letting him wake up to it.

He slowly rose from his comfortable cotton bed, his long deep auburn hair sticking out in all directions, indicating the elf's long slumber. Stretching and yawning the elf welcomed another beautiful autumn day. He was greeted by his pup, Jasper, the dog's black fur and tail wagging furiously at the sight of his master. It had been a gift from a nearby human village, Elrandir's bow and sword helping the village to rid them of a nasty goblin problem. The dog, Elrandir knew, was up with the sun, vigorously awaiting his master to follow.

After getting his hair into order and dressing himself properly, the green tunic a welcome distraction from the constant white he wore during his travels, the wood elf traversed the town of Cedarleaf, his home. With Jasper close behind he stopped to speak with the locals, old time friends, and certain female "interests". He was well-known in the town, his deeds making a fine story to tell around a tavern's fireplace. The townsfolk often wondered why he had returned so soon, the elf had left just a week before. When confronted, the elf merely shrugged and replied with an excuse, the most common of them being that he was in need of supplies.

Though, in truth, Elrandir was slowly starting to find boredom in such a life. It was not the traveling itself, but the tedious tasks that followed such travels. He yearned for variety, silently he wished for a giant attack, or a horde of bugbears that needed dealing with, something that would truly tests his skills as a warrior. Yet all he found were goblins. Oh how he despised goblins, the little creatures only fueling his boredom. Slowly the elf found his way back to his room, the few hours he spent in amongst the trees quenching his hunger for fresh air.

Elrandir slowly plopped onto his wooden chair, Jasper following the notion and jumping into the elf's lap. Elrandir replied with a loving smile, the elf gladly accepting his company. The wood elf stared off into the distance, his mind wandering to his past adventures, and then slowly drifted into a deep, carefree sleep. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours. No dreams came to Elrandir then, no comforting vision of a wife or children, just a door slamming open.

"Elrandir!" The wood elf cried, waking the elf instantaneously. A look of desperation was on his face, accompanied by beads of sweat.

Jasper and Elrandir both jumped at the elf's sudden and unexpected entry. "What is it!" Elrandir said with more than a bit of concern.

"We are under attack! Hurry we need your assistance!" The elf said quickly, waiting for Elrandir to burst into action.

"What, how! What are they?" Elrandir replied, his anxiety building.

"Orcs," the elf answered, "Two scores, three at most."

Elrandir grabbed his sword and armor, trying desperately to hide his smile. Finally his wish was coming true.

"Luskan", Lorana said to herself, "The breeding ground for every assassin, rogue and warlord north of the Sword Coast." Her cloak was about her, her hood hiding her blonde locks and beautiful features. Her dark blue eyes locked on the City of Sails, the dark night making the city look alive with fire, either from fireplaces in taverns or candles set on the windowsill. She looked around to the crew of the ship, the Phyxsius, a well-trained group by her standards. She was glad the captain, a man by the name of Finn, allowed her to accompany the crew without pay. Though, she did offer her services as a sorceress, which, Lorana knew, was one of the real reasons why Finn let her "tag" along the captain called it. The venture itself went smoothly, the ship slipping past any pirate bands waiting to raid and burn with reckless abandon.

Finn stood beside Lorana and broke her silence, "We're set to port for a few days if you choose to travel with us again, ma'am. Free of charge of course."

Lorana looked to the captain and smiled. She liked Finn, a man of realistic principles, and honorable to the end. She softly replied while shifting her staff to her left side. "Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. My path leads to Luskan and Silverymoon from there."

Finn nodded and looked back out towards Luskan, now only minutes away. Lorana looked behind her to see the crew smiling and waving like school children. "Though I must admit," she continued, looking back to Finn, "the crew was well-mannered."

The captain took the hint and looked to the crew, the majority of them walking off in a hurry to resume what they were doing. He let out a hearty laugh, thinking nothing of it. The captain let out a large sigh that usually accompanied an outburst of laughter. He then patted Lorana on the back as they approached Luskan's harbor, and walked away yelling, "Prepare for docking!"

Lorana accepted the pat with a smile and continued her quiet contemplations. She had to keep her mind focused and her eyes opened if she was to survive this city's brutality. The ship slowly settled into a comfortable docking position and seemed to make a large creaking noise that made the ship itself sound as if it was glad to have a four day rest. One of the crew, a large round man with a gray beard, carried what looked like a plank. He set it across an opening in the hull and connected it with the dock adjacent from it. Lorana, not wanting to waste any time, began to walk for the docks.

"And Miss Lorana," Finn called out to her, "you will always have a place on this ship."

Lorana glanced back one final time to the Phyxsius, hoping that Luskan would at least have one man as honorable and as kind as Captain Finn.


	3. The Heat of Battle

**Chapter Two: The Heat of Battle**

Dillon burst into action; his sword immediately coming from it's sheathe. He heard the city come alive with the roar of battle. He navigated his way through the screaming women and children trying to escape the massive horde that had just landed on their doorstep. Moments later he found himself running beside fellow knights, rushing to perform their duty. He wanted to ask how many there were, though he knew that the knights, too focused on helping their comrades, would not answer.

The group sprinted when they saw the gates, the few guards stationed at that post being overrun and overwhelmed by the orc invaders. The group rejoiced as they saw that most of their friends were still alive. Though, the knights that did not survive the first wave would justly be avenged by the grief-stricken companions in the group.

Dillon was in the front of the group, he himself being one of the faster runners, and slammed into the nearest orc that came charging towards him. He slashed and cut furiously, his mind focused on the heat of the battle. He watched as orcs fell at his feet, one by one, leaving them in his wake. He had never felt this way before, the surge of energy running through him; it was as if he was possessed. Something in his mind just clicked. It made him faster, stronger, and his mind raced quicker than he had ever experienced.

He did not know what was happening, and slowly his fellow knights began to take notice. They watched as he took on three orcs simultaneously, and disposed of them moments later. The knights were inspired by Dillon somehow. His courage and bravery made them fight even harder. Dillon was amazed, this small group of no fewer than sixteen was holding off the invading orcs. But as time faded and the battle raged on, more and more knights began to join in on the fight.

Dillon was dumbfounded by his own prowess, his role in the battle dealing greatly with the knight's morale. But, as if fate had turned against him, he found himself smothered with feelings of fear, anxiety, and an overwhelming pain in his gut. Dillon looked down, thinking he was struck by an arrow. He stared blankly, seeing no arrow, nothing that had penetrated his seemingly invincible defenses. He glanced ahead, his eyes coming upon an orc, a rather powerful orc by the way he was crushing his enemies under his enormous broad sword.

What's making him feel this way? He wondered. Dillon had never been afraid of any enemy he faced, though most of them were only orcs, goblins, and trolls. He felt as if the life was sucked out of him, his limbs went numb, his sword nearly dropping to the ground from his loosened grip. The orc, the general of the army, Dillon reasoned, took note of the knight's constant stare and fearful expression. The orc slowly walked towards Dillon, knowing that it would find pleasure in killing such an easy prey.

Battle erupted around the wood elf as he left his room. Chaos, it seemed, came knocking. The town's defenders were already overwhelmed, the orc mass nearly slaughtering the heroic combatants. Elrandir's eyes darted frantically looking for some measure of hope. They came upon a small padio like structure that stemmed off the main road. The padio itself contained the controls for the town's bridge, which was retractable for just these types of situations.

Elrandir looked back to the wood elf accompanying him. "What is your name?" The wood elf's shoulders visibly slouched, being disappointed that the famous Elrandir did not know his name. He had thought the two of them friends for some time, though, an exchange of words while he was buying supplies hardly granted a true friendship.

"Daronel, sir," he quickly blurted, not wanting to waste any more precious time.

"Daronel," Elrandir went on, "do you think you can get to the bridge controls?"

The wood elf followed Elrandir's pointing finger, understanding his undeniable logic.

"You're wanting to retract the bridge and stem their ranks!" Daronel reasoned. Brilliant, he thought to himself. Now he understood why Elrandir was so highly praised. Not only was his battle prowess commendable, but his strategy was uncanny! Daronel now looked upon this great wood elf in a different light. Oh, how he will love telling the story of his fight along side Elrandir later on.

"Yes, now can you get to it?" Elrandir reiterated, his voice showing his slight frustration with the awestruck elf.

"Oh, yes, of course the bridge." Daronel stammered as he looked past Elrandir's shaggy auburn hair and towards the bridge's controls. The path from their current position to the controls was littered with orcs though most of them were concentrated near the bridge itself and the path to the controls. The elf visibly blanched as he thought of fighting his way through the orc forces alone. He glanced back to see Elrandir's stern hazel orbs gazing back at him.

He came back to his senses. He remembered his duty to the village and his duty to his people. The blood came back to his face as a fire was set in his brown eyes. This was, in fact, his duty.

"Yes," the elf said determinedly and an appreciative smile covered Elrandir's face.

"Do not worry my elven friend," Elrandir said comfortingly as he slid his longbow from his back, "your back will be well guarded."

Lorana could barely believe herself at this moment. She was standing just outside the docks, her hood and cloak still about her with a map in hand. She was not even ten minutes out and already she was lost.

"I knew that old man didn't have a clue about Luskan," she silently criticized to herself as she looked down to a poorly drawn map, undoubtedly the old man's work. The map was not even of Luskan, the curves and jagged lines resembling the streets with small uneven boxes that were meant to be the buildings. From the shoddy design and the wide open gaps between the different buildings, Lorana didn't even think it was of a city in Faerun.

She looked around absently like a child down the many winding streets of Luskan. She had never truly been to Luskan, but she had often been told by her father and other siblings, who were sailors along the Sword Coast, how the city is a dangerous place to be new to. She tried as hard as she could to hide the obvious fact that she was lost. Though, to every onlooker, it was as clear as the sun in the sky.

He eyed the woman with the utmost curiosity, bringing another bite of his apple to his lips. His glistening black hair, neatly trimmed, his deep black eyes almost shining as brightly as the moon in the dark, starry sky. His skin was pale, reflecting the moon's light on his face and hands. The rest of him though, was dark. The leather armor needed for one of his trade.

"Lost?" He asked the woman openly from his perch on a tall cargo shipment. He cut another bite from his apple with his dagger and brought it to his lips. Lorana nearly jumped from the sudden break in the deafening silence of the Luskan docks. She glanced at the shadowy figure, holding fast to her father's words.

"And if I am?" She asked harshly, the intense tone a rare occurrence with the light-hearted sorceress, "I doubt it is any of your concern."

"Oh, but it is my fair maiden." The dark figure said, jumping down from his perch. He landed without making a sound, his soft boots with their padded insoles cushioning the fall. Lorana took notice of the quiet landing, which in her mind could only make this man one of two things: An elf, or a thief, and she hardly thought he was an elf for he did not have the tell-tale ears of an elf. "Such a beautiful woman as yourself, walking the dangerous streets of Luskan all by your lonesome? A bad combination by my standards. Worse even if you are lost."

"You underestimate this beautiful woman," Lorana mocked with a smile. She held her staff tightly, readying herself for the attack.

"No I do not my fair maiden," the figure commented, "or should I say, my fair sorceress?"

Lorana visibly tensed, to the figure's delight, at the sudden loss of her hidden advantage. How had he known? She thought to herself. She had kept herself well hidden, her cloak and hood close about her.

"It seems your reputation precedes you," the figure went on, "Lorana SkyHeart." The figure finished the statement with a bow, bringing his cloak behind him, revealing his other concealed dagger lying on his belt. The figure threw away the apple core he was eating, cleaned off his dagger and sheathed it on the other side of his belt.

"How did you know?" Lorana desperately asked.

"I have a beneficial relationship with the dock master," the figure replied, "Besides, I know the Phyxsius and it's crew, and for them to carry a passenger free of charge is a rare occurrence."

"But how did you know my name?" Lorana questioned.

"That is a question for another time perhaps," the figure said ominously.

There was a long silence, the statement enlisting a small fearful thought in Lorana. Another time? She thought to herself, the image of the man ambushing her with a group of thugs. She would defend herself of course, but by overwhelming odds or the slow tire of time, they would capture her. For what, she dared not to wonder. They could kill her, or sell her into slavery. The thought sent a shudder down her spine. She woke up from her deep thoughts to find the figure's intense gaze locked upon her.

"Where is the nearest tavern?" Lorana stammered, the gaze affecting her more than she was willing to admit.

The figured pointed down the street behind Lorana and replied, "First on the right. It's cheap but it's welcoming."

Lorana glanced behind her, quickly returning her gaze towards the dangerous figure. But he was no longer there. All that was left was the shadowy black of the docks. Lorana quickly turned and headed for the tavern, not wanting to linger any longer. Her fears hastening her steps.

The shadowy figure lurked close behind.


End file.
